


a Very Important Question

by Random_ag



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Swearing, the first line is gonna hit you like a brick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-22 11:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22115335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: The organist of Joey Drew Studios finds himself a very strange conondrum.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	a Very Important Question

“Does Eska have a penis?”

Sammy hid his face in his hands. Susie and Allison looked away as Thomas turned to Johnny with a not very friendly glare in his slitted eyes, followed by Lacie’s brow risen by surprise and Bertrum’s shocked look. Jack was massaging his own temples. Norman put a hand on Grant’s shoulder to prevent the exhausted man from dissolving into a nervous breakdown while Joey tried not to give the idea that he was thinking very hard about it now that it had been mentioned. Buddy’s eyes were wide enough to occupy a small hotel room.

Henry popped his mouth loudly in the silence.

“Can we have one normal lunch break in this God damned establishment for once?” Kim spoke with the tone of a man who’d rather not have his son be the object of wild conversations during dinner.

“Shut up, he’s got a point.” Shawn replied, trying to mildly shove a hand down his mouth so he couldn’t say anything else. “I’ve never seen him take a piss.”

Wally’s voice rose muffled by a mouthful of spaghetti: “ ‘s ‘cause of th’ stalls.”

“No no no, he means he’s never seen him _go_ to the bathroom for a need.” Dot hushed him, mind running wild, “Or _inside_ the bathroom, or in the stalls. He just doesn’t go there. Like he has no bodily needs. Does he have any kind of need, actually? I don’t think so.”

“He eats.” Kim answered drily. “Constantly.”

“But would he die if he didn’t eat?”

“Yes.”

“How can you be sure?”

The toy maker turned to her. He looked very tired. “His arms.” he replied.

Everyone in the room shuddered at the thought of the factotum’s limbs, horrifyingly thin enough for the naked eyes to make out his every bone and what little muscle was moving with it every single time he bent, tensed or relaxed them. Dot understood her fallacy and awkwardly stared at the table with her hands clasped together.

“That doesn’t answer my question!” Johnny insisted.

“I will shove the entire stool I am sitting on all the way down your ear if you say another word.”

“That’s a little excessive.” Henry commented.

Kim turned to him, his index finger nearly poking the organist’s eye at how vehemently he was pointing at him: “He’s asking weird questions about my son for reasons I can only imagine, I have the right to threaten him excessively!”

Lacie stopped him with a wave of her hand: “Uh, hold, hold on, I think I lost something in translation there. Uh, when, when has? Eska? Become your son?”

“Last year, more or less.”

“He’s not his son!” Shawn interrupted with an irrationally angry tone, “You haven’t adopted him, he just called you dad once!”

“Twice.” Kim corrected.

“It’s not enough to say he’s your son!”

“He insisted.”

“Oh for feck’s sake…”

“I am his father, Shawn.”

“Yeah, ok, can we go back to the topic at hand?”

“Absolutely not, you fiendish creature.”

“I just want some kind of answer-”

“And you won’t get it!” Kim replied, neck snapping to face the organist as he stood up and grabbed his stool in his hands.

Johnny stood up as well, but in order to get as far away from his friend as possible - attempt which proved to be useless, as Kim grabbed the collar of his shirt just as he was trying to book it, strangling him for a few seconds, and bashed the sitting object on the musician’s head repeatedly, not strong enough to cause irrepairable damage, but still with a kind of vicious violence that made the rest of the Studios employees fear for his life.

A vague garbled cry escaped the organist’s mouth, and in a second Kim was being held up and forcibly removed from delivering his righteous fury by a pair horrifyingly slender hands.

“Unhand me, my eldritch sunshine.” he ordered. “I must kill for your sake.”

Eska purred briefly.

“ESKA, QUICK!” Shawn yelled urgently. His fellow toy maker turned to him with murderous eyes, but his words were drowned out by the Irishman’s: “DO YOU HAVE A DICK?!”

The langly definitely-not-human factotum stared at him as if he’d just seen an entire alien entourage. Silence descended so heavily on the room, its sheer pressure nearly split Buddy’s skull clean open not unlike a watermelon sloppily cut in half with a broken, rusty medieval sword in one swing.

“A dick.” Shawn repeated. “Penis. Wiener. Do you have one?”

The only answer he got was an unmovable stare.

Dot couldn’t help herself from intervening: “Do you pee?”

A minute.

Then: “I guess.”

“Ok, so, when you go peeing, do you sit on the toilet or can you stand up and do your business from there?” the writer continued, incredibly serious, while behind her Susie had grabbed Allison’s and Thomas’ arms and was tugging them with increasing unease, mouthing something about what did he _mean_ ‘I guess’, did he not know what _physical parts of his body_ he had?

Eska thought about it a little more.

Between the astonishment and general incredulity of everybody present (only exceptions being himself and a Kim who had lost all hope and will and resorted to astral projecting as far away as possible), he reached for the bib of his overalls and pulled it out of the way so he could check inside.

After a couple seconds, he let got of it.

“Hm.” he said, and shrugged again.

Johnny threw his hands in the air: “What’s that even supposed to _mean_?!”

“Shirt’s too big.”

“Shirt’s t- Oh my God, just move it aside!”

And so the factotum did.

He even stared for a good while.

“Hm.” he repeated, and shrugged for the third god damned time.

The organist would have gladly attempted to commit an atrocity in the face all of that is good, for he was losing his sense of fear along with patience and could have cared less for the consequences wrestling the sublime undead demigod of rotting corpses might have brought to him, such, for example, as a most regrettable end of his life before his time was actually due.

It was very lucky in this case that Niamh had a habit of violently slamming the door to the break room open whenever she was late, causing a quick yet thundering bang that made everybody nearly jump out of their skin.

“Feck’s happenin’?” she asked at an excessively loud volume as she casually registered the soulless body of her husband lying on the floor.

Johnny pointed at her son furiously: “HE DOESN’T KNOW IF HE HAS A DICK!”

“Just ask him.”

“I _DID_ , HE SAID HE DOESN’T KNOW!”

“Just do the test.”

“Tes- W, what test?”

“The test. Shawn, get yer arse over here.”

The toy maker attempted an escape as he saw her approaching him at the speed of sound, but in vain.

Niamh punched him in the groin.

As the Irishman fell to the floor doubled over in pain and a variety of fellow employees either stared with wide terrified eyes or covered the most delicate parts of their anatomies in fear, she turned to Eska and punched him as well; the ancient horror leaned forward a bit, undoubtedly due to the recoil for the hit.

“Did it hurt?” Niamh asked him.

He shrugged. Again.

The manager turned to the organist: “Yeah, no, he doesn’t have one.”

Johnny didn’t dare answer.


End file.
